Revelation
by Morfiwien Greenleaf
Summary: For once, it's Marian who has a surprise for Harold! But first, she has to realize it, herself...
1. The Mutton Incident

When Marian Paroo Hill unwrapped the packet of meat Harold had brought home the night before, she nearly gagged. While mutton had a distinct bouquet many people found unpleasant, the aroma had never bothered her before – mutton had been one of Marian's favorite foods since she was a child. But now the odor was so disagreeable she had to leave the kitchen.

Harold looked up from his book when she came rushing into the parlor. "What's wrong, Marian? You look a little green!"

"I think the mutton is past its prime," she replied, taking great gulps of fresh air in an attempt to alleviate her nausea. "It smells rancid!"

"Oh?" he said curiously, standing up. "It was fine when I bought it yesterday – seems awfully quick for it to spoil. But let's go wrap it up, and I'll get our money back tomorrow."

Harold went into the kitchen. Holding her breath, Marian followed warily behind and watched as her husband examined the packet she had left on the counter when she unceremoniously fled the kitchen.

"Well, it looks fine," Harold said with a shrug. He bent over to take a sniff. "Smells fine, too," he concluded, wrinkling his nose.

Marian allowed herself to breathe again – and the same stomach-turning stench assailed her nostrils. "Ugh – how can you say that? Even if it looks fine, it smells positively vile!"

He laughed. "It doesn't smell any worse than mutton normally does. Madam Librarian, I think your nose is playing tricks on you!"

Marian would have issued a retort, but she felt the bile rising to her throat and thought it would be best if she didn't attempt to speak, just now.

Harold's smile faded. "Darling, are you all right?"

She had to leave the room a second time.

XXX

A half hour later, when Marian judged herself sufficiently recovered, she forced herself to reenter the kitchen. Her mother and Winthrop would arrive in an hour and, if she didn't get going on dinner, they would have nothing to eat. It was Mrs. Paroo's birthday today, and Marian was planning to prepare her mother's favorite dish from the old country: Irish stew. She knew her mother would especially enjoy the mutton; in Iowa, sheep were not as plentiful as cattle and swine and, being ever frugal and practical, Mrs. Paroo usually substituted beef when she made this recipe. And after all the trouble Harold went to in order to acquire the mutton, Marian wasn't going to let the meat go to waste – no matter how queasy the prospect of being in the same room with it made her.

Fortunately, she was able to overcome her squeamishness on this third attempt. The odor still bothered her, but it was not as off-putting as it had been earlier. Even with her frequent escapes to the parlor for fresh air, Marian was able to get all the stew ingredients in a pot and boiling on the stove before company arrived.

Harold watched his wife's frantic comings and goings with an amused expression. "If I'd known you had so much trouble with mutton, I would've bought pork chops, instead."

"I don't have trouble with mutton!" Marian insisted. "I still think it's the particular piece of meat you bought – wherever you got it, don't go there again!"

"Yes, Ma'am," Harold said with a salute. He went back to his book, the traces of a smile playing around his lips.

XXX

"Marian! Is that Irish stew on the stove?" Mrs. Paroo asked excitedly, taking a deep breath when she entered the house. Winthrop's eyes lit up, as well – like his older sister, he had always relished the special occasions on which they ate mutton.

Marian smiled; her mother's joy made the steady undercurrent of nausea worth it. "Yes, Mama – I'm making it just like you taught me."

"How wonderful!" Mrs. Paroo declared happily. Then her expression turned businesslike and, as soon as Harold had helped her out of her coat, she marched into the kitchen. "Did you remember to boil the potatoes first? Otherwise they won't be soft enough – "

Normally, Marian would have put up a greater fuss at Mrs. Paroo's interference in her kitchen. But in this instance, she was more than happy to cede the cooking to her mother. Too busy trying to quell the urge to gag – which was rising again – Marian obeyed Mrs. Paroo's orders without complaint.

But Mrs. Paroo soon grew suspicious of her daughter's strangely docile manner, and surveyed Marian with a critical eye. "Are you all right, dear? You look like you're going to be sick!"

"Excuse me," Marian said, and quickly exited the kitchen.

XXX

Dinner was a nightmare – for Marian, at least. She had managed to endure the ever-increasing, pervasive aroma of Irish stew by opening several windows, but she had to close them before her mother and brother arrived – it was a cold, blustery mid-March day, and she couldn't ask her family to freeze for her sake. But now the air was thick with the odor of mutton, and it was all Marian could do to prevent succumbing to sickness.

Despite her discomfort, she was determined to persevere in her efforts to present a tranquil demeanor – especially since no one else seemed to be having an issue. On the contrary – Harold, Mrs. Paroo and Winthrop ate their stew with relish. Marian tried to take comfort in her loved ones' contented joy; she was not going to let a little queasiness ruin a pleasant family get-together.

But as always, Mrs. Paroo noticed something was amiss with her daughter. "Marian, you've hardly touched your dinner!"

To keep up appearances, Marian had dished herself a plate of stew, but she hadn't taken a single bite. "I'm not hungry, Mama," she said. "I had a large breakfast this morning."

Harold immediately shot her a look – he knew as well as she did that she had only taken one slice of toast and a single cup of tea all day. Marian met his gaze, wordlessly entreating him not to speak.

But even though he honored her wishes and said nothing, Mrs. Paroo witnessed this exchange. "Professor Hill – what's going on?"

"Marian had a bit of difficulty with the mutton earlier," Harold explained with the lighthearted laugh he always gave when he wanted to put people at ease. "I'm afraid it has spoiled her appetite."

"Difficulty?" Mrs. Paroo asked, mystified. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"

Marian decided she'd better join the conversation, before her silence made her mother even more suspicious than she already was. "It wasn't difficulty," the librarian replied, giving her husband a small frown. "The mutton didn't smell right to me, and I was worried it might have gone bad."

Expecting her mother to urge her to at least try the stew, Marian braced herself for an argument. But instead, Mrs. Paroo's eyes lit up and she smiled. Before Marian could ask her mother what on earth she was so ridiculously happy about, Mrs. Paroo's beaming expression disappeared. "Darling, you look exhausted," she said tenderly. "Why don't you go lie down, and I'll clear the dishes."

Marian had been feeling rather tired – but she brushed it off as the natural consequences of having a busy, exciting life. "Nonsense, Mama – it's your birthday, and you're our guest!" she protested, rising from her seat. But she must have stood up too quickly, for she suddenly felt dizzy.

Ever alert to his wife's well-being, Harold had risen from his seat and was there to catch her before she swooned. "Marian, why don't you let me help you to bed?" he suggested.

Marian didn't have the energy to argue, so she nodded her acquiescence. But before she retired, she turned to her mother and brother. "I'm sorry to be such horrible company," she said regretfully. "I haven't been feeling well today – I think I might be coming down with something."

"Not to worry, darling," Mrs. Paroo replied with an understanding smile. "You just rest while we take care of things. Winthrop, why don't you say goodnight to your sister?"

Rising from his seat, the boy came over and gave the librarian a hug. "I hope you feel better soon, sister," he said kindly.

Marian gave him a wistful smile – stoic as his manner was, she still couldn't help noticing the disappointment in his eyes. The time she was able to spend with Winthrop had markedly decreased since her marriage and, though her brother was thrilled to have gained Harold as a member of the family, she knew he felt her absence as keenly as she felt his. Marian would have knelt down to look Winthrop in the eye, but she was still feeling too lightheaded to do anything but lean on her husband's steady arm. "I'm so sorry our visit has to be cut short, Winthrop. To make it up to you, I'll take you to the Candy Kitchen for sundaes next week – just you and me."

Winthrop's expression brightened. "Really?"

"Really," she promised. After her brother gave her a final hug, Marian allowed Harold to lead her away.

Though the entire downstairs still smelled of that awful mutton, the air on the second floor was refreshingly unspoiled. Exhausted, Marian started to drift off as Harold helped her into her nightclothes. In the time between his tucking her into bed and giving her a goodnight kiss – at least, that's what Marian imagined was happening when she felt something soft and warm gently brush her forehead – she had fallen asleep. Perversely, she dreamed of strawberry phosphates.


	2. The Effect of a Good Night's Sleep

The effect a good night's sleep could have on a person's health was amazing. When Marian awakened the next morning, she felt like her normal self again.

But her relief was short lived; from the position of the shadows and the empty spot next to her, she knew she had overslept. Harold must have left for the music emporium hours ago – why didn't he wake her? She had better get a move on, if she wanted to complete her usual list of chores before she had to open the library that afternoon! And her intense desire for a strawberry phosphate still lingered; she could not wait until evening to satisfy this craving. But before Marian could even sit up, the bedroom door opened and Harold entered the room, bearing a tray of dry toast and tea.

She beamed at her husband. "Harold! What are you doing home?"

"Holding down the fort while my wife recovers from her illness," he declared, placing the tray in front of her. "Last night, I gave your mother the rest of the Irish stew and aired out the downstairs as best I could. Now I'm bringing you your breakfast."

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble," Marian said, touched. But she gladly started in on her breakfast – having eaten hardly anything yesterday, she was starving. "I'm feeling perfectly fine. In fact, I feel better than I have in a long time!"

"Don't push yourself too hard, darling," Harold said gently. Giving her a fond smile, he headed for the door. "I'll be back to collect your dishes in a little while."

XXX

When Harold returned twenty minutes later, Marian was almost fully dressed.

"What are you doing up?" he asked with a smile – though there was a remonstrative note in his voice.

"I've got so much to do before I get to the library," she replied as she arranged her hair in its usual chignon. "I'm running dreadfully late!"

Harold regarded her with a pensive expression. "Perhaps you should stay home today."

"Harold!" she exclaimed with an exasperated laugh, "I'm not an invalid! As I told you, I feel perfectly fine."

"You do seem better," he conceded, taking a seat on their bed. "But I'd hate for you to relapse."

"I'm all right," Marian assured him. "And shouldn't you be at the music emporium, overseeing rehearsals? The spring concert's only two weeks away!"

Harold shrugged. "I think the band can survive without me for a day. As a matter of fact, the library can get along without your presence for a little while," he said frankly. "Isn't Zaneeta helping you, now?"

Marian's eyes met Harold's in the mirror, and she suddenly realized what he was driving at. It had been awhile since they were alone together like this; in the past few weeks, she had taken to going to bed early – long before her husband retired. But Marian was torn between duty and desire; as much as she relished the idea of an uninterrupted day with Harold, she didn't want to fall behind in her work.

"Yes, Zaneeta's been working a few afternoons during the week," Marian admitted, averting her eyes from Harold's intent gaze. "But I hate being away from the library for too long."

Rising from the bed, Harold walked over to Marian and wrapped his arms around her. "Your husband hates being away from _you_ so long," he said in his low, velvety voice. "Have I told you that you look especially beautiful this morning?"

"You say that every morning, Professor Hill," she replied sweetly, pretending not to notice his hands idly drifting further down her waist.

"That's because it's true," he maintained, pulling her closer.

Time, which had been speeding along at too rapid a pace for her to keep up with, suddenly relaxed into a leisurely moment of languid delight. Desire won out, after all: When Harold started to remove the pins from her hair and set them back down on the vanity, Marian didn't protest.

XXX

But Marian's renewed health didn't last for long; her nausea soon reappeared, with a vengeance. More often than not, her queasiness was triggered by certain scents: In addition to mutton, Marian could no longer tolerate cabbage, onions, garlic, or any other strong-smelling food.

And it wasn't just food that bothered her; her bouts of illness got especially bad in late April, when the farmers began spreading manure in preparation for spring planting. Marian had always hated manure; its pungent, pervasive stench made a skunk's musky aroma seem downright lovely. But for all its unpleasantness, the odor of manure had never made her sick to her stomach before.

At first, Marian bore her nausea, exhaustion and general sense of malaise as stoically as any dyed-in-the-wool Iowan. In between running the library, helping Harold with the music emporium and serving on various committees, she already had enough on her plate to deal with. Quite simply, Marian didn't have the time or the energy to fret over a few minor ailments – as she constantly reminded her mother, who had taken to inviting her for lunch once a week in order to make circumspect inquiries about the state of her health.

At first, when Marian shared her frustrations over her mother's cautious, yet cloying, behavior, Harold had commiserated with her, and the two of them would exchange a friendly laugh. But as time went on, she noticed her husband was also starting to tread carefully around her. Though they still enjoyed sparring verbally, she noticed he had started to make a more concerted effort to refrain from provoking her temper. And there was something new in his eyes when he looked at her, a sort of protective watchfulness (depending on her mood, she was flattered or annoyed by this). The way Harold held her had changed, too: He made love to her so sweetly and tenderly that just to think of it brought tears to Marian's eyes.

But even Harold's patience had its limits. One evening after supper, when Marian was curled up on the parlor sofa with a well-worn copy of _Pride and Prejudice_, Harold entered the room and took a seat next to her. As always, she put her book aside and welcomed her husband with a smile. When Harold took her in his arms, Marian did her best to ignore her physical discomfort – though even his gentlest caresses made her wince. Unsurprisingly, he soon picked up on her distress, and ended their embrace.

"Today was one of my more difficult days," Marian said apologetically, trying to dispel the awkward silence that had fallen between them.

Normally, Harold would have given her an understanding nod and retreated to an armchair with a book of his own. But tonight, he stayed where he was and regarded her with a mingled look of concern and exasperation. "Marian, you've been having difficult days since the end of March. It's now almost May." Without another word, he stood up and left the room.

Marian had finally had enough. She decided a visit to Dr. Pyne was in order.


	3. Discovery

Harold wasn't the only one whose patience had given out. The next day, when Marian went to her mother's for their weekly lunch, Mrs. Paroo greeted her with a determined look in her eyes and, without even the pretense of making small talk, launched into her usual list of questions.

It was hard for Marian to keep a straight face during this interrogation; she had just come from Dr. Pyne's office, and knew exactly what the matter was with her. But as thrilled as the librarian was about the doctor's diagnosis, she wasn't about to let her mother badger the information out of her – if anyone had the right to hear the news first, it was Harold. So Marian continued to dodge her mother's inquiries; by now, she had become quite adept at doing so.

But this time, Mrs. Paroo refused to let up. "Marian, I think it's high time you paid Dr. Pyne a visit," she said in a firm, no-nonsense voice.

Marian could no longer contain her glee. "Mama, I already did," she confessed, letting the full measure of her joy radiate from her countenance.

Mrs. Paroo paused for a moment, stunned. Then she let out an ecstatic laugh. "Oh, blessed Saint Michael and all the archangels!" she cried, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing her eyes. "I never thought I'd hear you say those words – I thought I was going to have to drag you down to Dr. Pyne's myself!"

Marian enfolded her mother in a joyful hug. "Oh, Mama, it wasn't my intention to keep you in the dark too much longer. I just found out this morning, and I wanted to tell Harold first."

Mrs. Paroo goggled at her. "You mean to tell me Professor Hill doesn't know yet?"

"I came right over from the doctor's," Marian replied. "There wasn't time… "

"Well, what are you doing here, me girl?" her mother exclaimed. "You need to go to the music emporium, right now!"

Marian shook her head. "Mama, Harold's been extremely busy these days, and I don't wish to interrupt him. Besides, that's not the way I want him to find out."

"Oh, for heaven's sake – don't tell me you have some foolish, romantic plan in mind," her mother said with a sigh. "You're getting just as bad as Professor Hill!"

Marian smiled; she had already decided to take the afternoon off from the library so she could prepare for Harold's arrival home that evening.

Mrs. Paroo's eyes narrowed. "You should know by now these things always have a way of backfiring – remember Professor Hill's proposal scheme?"

"Oh, Mama," the librarian said, rolling her eyes good naturedly. "My plans aren't _that_ elaborate – I was just going to put on a nice dress and cook him his favorite dinner."

But her mother wasn't satisfied. "Are you sure you're up to doing all that work, in your condition?"

"I'm not going to make Irish stew," Marian said with a laugh. "Just a roast chicken; I think I can manage that."

"Well, if you don't mind my saying so, I think you ought to just go and tell him – and forget all this extra fuss," Mrs. Paroo said skeptically – but dropped the subject.

XXX

At first, Marian dismissed her mother's concerns as overprotectiveness – a natural instinct for a devoted grandmother-to-be. Though the librarian didn't plan to overtax herself, she knew it wouldn't behoove her to be too idle, either. Preparing a special dinner for her husband was no trouble, at all; Dr. Pyne's diagnosis had given her sagging spirits a much-needed boost, and she felt more energetic than she had in a long time.

As Marian set the dining-room table with their best china, she marveled at her ignorance. The nausea, the exhaustion, the intense cravings for strawberry phosphates – how could she have failed to recognize these symptoms for what they were? She certainly should have known what was going on when her monthly courses ceased after January! But her courses had always been irregular and, being distracted by her many responsibilities, Marian hadn't realized so much time had passed until one of Dr. Pyne's insightful inquiries brought this detail to the forefront of her mind.

When the epiphany finally occurred, Marian had blushed at her foolishness. But Dr. Pyne had given her a kind smile and told her that in coming to him when she was just three months along, she actually proved cleverer than most of his patients – young women who were newly married tended not to suspect anything until they had quickened, which usually happened at the end of the fourth month. Though his words comforted her somewhat, Marian knew she wouldn't have been sitting in the doctor's office that morning if it hadn't been for Harold's hint the night before. This made her wonder if, like her mother, her husband had also deduced her condition.

But even if he had, Marian was still determined to make her disclosure of the news a special occasion. Harold had been so wonderfully gentle and accommodating as she wrestled with her various ailments, she wanted to demonstrate in a tangible way just how much she loved and appreciated him.

XXX

By five o'clock, dinner was ready. But when five fifteen rolled around, Harold still hadn't arrived home. Marian told herself to be patient; he was probably just running late. Even when the minute hand reached the half-hour mark, she refused to worry – though she was a bit annoyed that he hadn't sent word. It wasn't until the clock chimed six that Marian gave in to temptation and picked up the phone.

Harold sounded pleasantly surprised to hear from her. "What are you doing at home, sweetheart? I thought this was your night to close the library!"

So much for her budding career as a master schemer! Marian could have kicked herself for this oversight; of course Harold would wonder at this spontaneous change in her schedule. "I had a few things I needed to do this afternoon, so I decided to let Zaneeta take an extra shift," she said nonchalantly.

Even though she hadn't told her husband a lie, he immediately grew suspicious. "Is anything the matter?"

"Oh, not at all!" she assured him. Then she grimaced at how cheerful she sounded – if she wasn't careful, she was going to give herself away!

Marian could almost hear Harold's amused grin. "Well, that's good," he said, the apprehension gone from his voice. "I'm glad you called, actually. I was just about to send Davey over to the library to tell you that I'm going to be late tonight."

Her eyes widened. "Late? Why late?"

"I've got a project that needs finishing up," he said ruefully. "But don't worry – I should be home by nine."

Though it wasn't like her to protest such dedication to one's work, Marian couldn't help herself. "You're sure you can't leave it until tomorrow?"

Harold paused. "I really should get this done – I'm working on a deadline. But if you need me to come home, just say the word and I'll happily drop what I'm doing," he offered.

"No, that's fine," she replied – though she had difficulty keeping the disappointment out of her voice.

Harold paused again. "Are you sure everything's all right, Marian?"

Marian remembered questioning Harold in a similar manner on the night of their three-month anniversary, when they were still sweethearts and she had caught him lying about meeting Zaneeta in the Candy Kitchen. Until now, Marian had wondered why he hadn't just gone ahead and proposed to her right then and there. But finally, she understood.

"I just miss you," Marian replied, making sure to smile so she didn't sound too forlorn. "See you in a little while, darling."

XXX

To Marian's delight, Harold arrived home at seven thirty. By then, her spirits had improved – though dinner was a wash, she refused to let this setback ruin her plans. After eating a hasty supper and making up a plate for Harold to have later, she set her hair in banana curls and dressed herself in the pink gown she had worn the night they first danced the Shipoopi together. When her husband walked in, she was waiting to greet him with a warm smile.

At first, Harold halted and gazed at Marian with an awed expression. But it wasn't long before he broke into a grin. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he said in his low, velvety voice. "If you told me you were planning to get all dolled up, I would've rushed right home. What's the occasion?"

"Oh, nothing," Marian said coyly. "I just thought we might take a stroll."

"Give me fifteen minutes," Harold said with a wink, and hastened upstairs.

XXX

At seven forty-five on the dot, Harold came downstairs again. Marian's heart beat faster when she saw him – not only had he put on that dashing summer sack suit of his, she could tell from the scent of bay rum that he had taken the time to shave.

"Well, shall we, my dear?" Harold asked, holding his hand out to her.

Feeling oddly shy, Marian took her husband's arm in a manner that was modest as a maiden's.

Harold grinned at her timidity. "You'd think we were on our first date," he teased, and pulled her to him for a quick but passionate kiss before they went out the front door.


	4. A Moonlit Stroll

Their walk to the footbridge was silent. But it was a lovely silence; filled with the promise and anticipation of romantic fulfillment. The blossoms were just starting to unfurl, and the night air was clean and fresh from that afternoon's rainstorm. Marian reflected she could just as easily give Harold the news now as when they reached the footbridge, but she was hesitant to break the spell. Besides, the librarian was rather enjoying the fact that it was she who had a wonderful secret for once, and she wanted to savor this feeling for just a little while longer.

And amid the joy that coursed through her in a strong, steady current, there was a slight ripple of apprehension. Marian couldn't help wondering how Harold would react when she told him the news; children weren't something they had ever really discussed before. Harold had made a few veiled remarks in the past, of course: When he had given her family a tour of the Victorian just after purchasing it, he winked at Marian and asked her – in a voice too soft for Mrs. Paroo or Winthrop to hear – if she thought the upstairs tower room would make a charming nursery. Figuring he was teasing her for her heedless, spur-of-the-moment remark about the downstairs tower room being a good place to give piano lessons (which was rather brazen of her to say, as he hadn't even proposed to her yet), Marian had blushed and changed the subject.

But even after they had married, Harold remained just as furtive on the topic. Marian thought perhaps a man his age might not want children – after all, when their son or daughter reached the age of majority, her husband would be in his sixties. She wondered if that was why Harold had refrained from discussing the issue of her health; perhaps he wanted to enjoy his time alone with her for as long as he could, before being forced to turn his attention to the burdens of parenthood…

A scolding voice that sounded suspiciously like her mother's broke into her reverie: _Marian Paroo Hill, you had better tell him now, before you drive yourself crazy!_

But before Marian could speak, the footbridge came into sight. And she was stunned and disappointed to find it was already occupied – by none other than Tommy and Zaneeta!

"Well, what do you know?" Harold said, amused. "Looks like someone's missing her Epworth League meeting, again!"

Marian clamped her hand over her husband's mouth and pulled him behind the thick but patchy clumps of foliage bordering the area. "Hush – they'll hear us!" she whispered. Even though an interruption would be in the teens' best interest – it looked like they could use a good reminder of the necessity of demonstrating a bit more propriety – she was embarrassed to have intruded on such a private moment.

"Oh, I think it would take a lot more than our talking to disturb them," Harold said slyly. "We'd need a seventy-piece orchestra to get those two to turn around." He looked thoughtful. "I do have a harmonica on me… "

But as she eyed the teens through the bushes, Marian felt a sudden, wistful pang. She laid her hand on Harold's arm as he fished around in his pocket. "Why don't we leave them be?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "My, we are feeling sentimental this evening!"

"It wasn't that long ago when the footbridge was the only place we could get away from prying eyes," she said nostalgically. "There are other places we can go."

Harold gave his wife an arch grin. "Where _would_ you like to go, Madam Librarian – to the lumberyard, perhaps?"

Marian smirked and swatted him on the arm. Heaven forbid she reveal her news in such an unromantic place! And Zaneeta's curfew was approaching; if Marian played her cards right, she and Harold could still have their special evening at the footbridge. All she needed was a delay that wouldn't make him suspicious…

It wasn't long before Marian hit upon the perfect solution: "Actually, I was thinking we could head over to the Candy Kitchen. A strawberry phosphate would be wonderful, right about now."

Harold chuckled and wagged a finger at her. "You've said that almost every night for the past few weeks! If you keep drinking so many strawberry phosphates, my dear little librarian, the dentist is going to have enough business to purchase a fleet of Ramblers."

_Tell him_, the scolding voice urged. But Marian just smiled at her husband and gave him another playful swat.

XXX

They had barely rounded the turn of the path away from the footbridge when a wind blew in from the northwest – bringing with it a pungent, all-too-familiar stench.

Harold grimaced. "Ah, there's nothing more romantic than a moonlit stroll in Iowa during the spring," he said sardonically. "Flowers blooming, birds singing, crickets chirping… and the delicate aroma of manure wafting on the evening breeze."

Feeling her nausea return, Marian frantically searched the folds of her gown for the lavender sachet her mother had given her for such emergencies. When she couldn't find it, she pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it to her nose and mouth.

Tightening his hold on her arm, Harold ushered Marian to where the air was unspoiled. But it was too late – the odor of manure had irrevocably stamped itself upon her senses, and she couldn't prevent nature from taking its course. Fortunately, they were still in a relatively secluded place; no one but her husband witnessed her undignified display.

When Marian finally recovered, she turned to see Harold looking at her like he didn't know whether he wanted to take her in his arms and soothe her with gentle caresses or grab her by the shoulders and give her a good shake. "Marian, you need to make some room in that busy schedule of yours for a visit to Dr. Pyne," he said firmly.

Marian blushed at her stomach's ill-timed indiscretion – this wasn't the way she had wanted to tell him. But it looked like she wasn't going to be able to put it off any longer; Harold was gazing at her with narrowed eyes, waiting for her to explain herself.

Taking a deep breath, she prepared to confess everything. "Darling, that won't be necessary – "

"Damn it, Marian!" Harold exclaimed, shocking her into silence. "There's only so much a man can take! For a month now, I've been waiting for you to do something about this. As much it killed me to stand quietly by and watch you suffer, I didn't say a single word. I thought if I pressed you, you'd only resist. But enough is enough! If you won't take action, I will – first thing tomorrow morning, I'm calling Dr. Pyne."

Marian's eyes started to well up with tears. "You're absolutely right; I should never have let things go on this long. But oh, Harold, you didn't let me finish… " She trailed off, unable to speak further. She couldn't tell him like this; not when her emotions were threatening to overwhelm her.

As Marian struggled to regain her composure, Harold's expression started to soften. "I love you, Marian," he said, his voice heavy with careworn anguish. "But damn, if your Iowan stubbornness isn't difficult to bear, at times!"

At his words, she felt herself losing even more control. Harold had been so patient with her; far more accommodating than any wife had a right to expect her husband to be. And even though he had reached his threshold of endurance, he was still striving to suppress his hurt and frustration, out of sheer love for her. Marian could no longer hold back the tears pooling in her eyes; they spilled over the rims of her lashes and streamed down her cheeks.

Harold caught her in a fervent hug. "Darling, forgive me," he said repentantly. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that… "

Marian wanted to tell him that she was the one who should be apologizing, but she was too overcome to do anything but take refuge in her husband's warm embrace and wait for this storm to pass. Harold held her tight, stroking her hair and whispering endearments as she sobbed into his shoulder.

When Marian finally started to settle down, Harold took out a handkerchief and gently brushed the remaining tears from her cheeks. "Come on, sweetheart – let's get you home."


	5. Telling Harold

By the time they reached home, Marian had recovered from her distress. As soon as Harold escorted her across the threshold and closed the front door, she turned to face him. But when she saw how tired and haggard he looked, Marian felt her eyes watering again.

_Now, that's enough of that_, she scolded herself. _Harold's spent more than enough time comforting you – it's high time you returned the favor_. "Darling, you must be starving," she said sympathetically, giving his hand a friendly little squeeze. "Supper's waiting for you in the kitchen. When you've finished, I'll be in the music room."

Marian was gratified to see his tense expression relax into relief. One of the wonderful things about being married to Harold was that the longer they were together, the better they understood each another. Anyone else would have found her statement perfectly innocuous, but she knew her husband would immediately grasp her hidden meaning: Before broaching sensitive topics, Marian liked to retire to the music room to play the piano, as the activity steadied her nerves.

"What will you play, tonight?" he asked. Like her statement, his innocent-sounding question also possessed secret significance.

"I was thinking Chopin's _Nocturne in E flat major_," she replied.

Harold gazed fondly at her. "That's one of my favorites, you know."

Marian smiled and nodded. "Which is why I chose it."

XXX

After freshening up and changing into a lingerie frock of white eyelet fabric – a rose-pink cummerbund encircled her waist, which the librarian thought quite charming and appropriate, given the conversation she and Harold were about to have – Marian went to the music room and settled herself at the piano.

First she began with Beethoven's _Moonlight Sonata_. Though she loved the wistfulness of the quiet yet emotionally powerful sonata, Marian soon decided it felt too grim for this occasion. So she switched to the rondo from Mozart's _Concerto for Two Pianos_ – a lighter piece, but no less passionate. As she played the middle passage – a section of exquisite lyrical grace – she felt the lack of a partner. Though Harold had never expressed much interest in learning the piano (his talents seemed to lie squarely in the brass family of instruments), she secretly dreamed he would someday be able to play this duet with her.

Glancing at the clock, Marian realized a half hour had passed. Harold was sure to have finished supper ages ago, and she still hadn't signaled him it was all right to approach! Chiding herself for losing track of the time, she immediately launched into Chopin's _Nocturne_.

But her first run-through of the nocturne went uninterrupted. So she played the piece again, this time a little louder. When Harold still hadn't tapped her on the shoulder by the second conclusion, Marian rose from her seat, intending to seek him out.

Her irritation changed into astonishment when she saw Harold standing in the doorway and watching her.

Marian gasped and put her hand to her breast, taking several deep breaths to steady her racing heart. "Harold! Why didn't you say anything?"

"I couldn't bring myself to interrupt your beautiful performance," he said smoothly, ever the flatterer. "Passion and proficiency blended seamlessly into art – it's not often that I hear such perfection."

"And just how long have you been standing there admiring this 'perfection,' Professor Hill?" she asked wryly.

"Since _Moonlight Sonata_," Harold admitted with a sheepish grin.

Marian gave him an affectionate but reproachful look. "If I had meant for you to arrive during Beethoven, I would have said so," she pointed out.

"I couldn't help myself," he said, this time with quiet sincerity. "Your playing captivated me; there was something especially poignant in it, tonight."

Marian smiled; as she played, she had been musing over several charming daydreams of what things would be like with a child in the house. But she was still feeling a bit miffed about Harold's intrusion, so she gently teased, "It's a pity that a man who's so moved by evocative piano music has a repertoire limited to _Chopsticks_!"

Harold raised an eyebrow at her. "You might be surprised at how much my repertoire has expanded in the past few months."

"Oh?" she challenged.

He plunked down next to her on the piano bench and gave her a playful little nudge. "Scoot over, Madam Librarian, and I'll show you what I can do!"

Intrigued, Marian vacated her seat.

After closing his eyes and taking a breath – as he always did before embarking on a musical presentation – Harold started playing Beethoven's _Für Elise_.

Marian's mouth fell open and she watched him, transfixed. Though his rendition wasn't faultless – he struck a wrong note or two, and his tempo halted slightly during the key-change transitions – the passion in his performance more than accommodated for his technical shortcomings. As Harold played this piece, Marian heard his adoration and longing for her; she felt as flushed and breathless as she did when they made love.

All too soon, it ended. Harold turned and looked at her, and she was charmed to see uncertainty in his smile.

"How long have you been working on that?" Marian asked wonderingly.

He shrugged as if the matter was of no importance. "Since Christmas. Amaryllis has been giving me lessons. You should see her, darling – she's as charmingly imperious a pedagogue as you are."

With a blushing smile, Marian lowered her eyes.

"I meant this as a birthday surprise for you," Harold said sheepishly. "I know I'm a few weeks early, but something about this moment felt right. It was lucky I managed to get in some extra practice this evening!"

Her eyes darted back to his. "Is _that _why you were late coming home?"

He grinned. "Sadly, it is. Now, I know it's not the other half of Mozart's _Concerto for Two Pianos_, but I've got to start somewhere… "

Marian burst into tears.

His eyes widening, Harold rose from his seat and came over to where she was standing. "Marian – I wasn't _that_ bad, was I?" he asked, putting his steadying hands on her trembling shoulders.

"It… was… beautiful!" she managed to say between sobs.

He let out a shaky but relieved laugh. "Well, I wasn't that great, either – you're carrying on like I was Beethoven, himself!"

Marian laughed as well, and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, darling – I can't help it. Mama says all women who are in my condition get like this." When her husband gave her a curious look, she said coyly, "Harold, do you remember your remark about how the upstairs tower room would make a charming nursery? Well… I think I've found us the perfect renovation project for this summer."

Harold gaped at her with joy and awe. She could tell he was struggling to figure out how best to express his elation; his Adam's apple wobbled slightly, as it did on those rare occasions when intense emotion made him at a loss for words. Marian was about to tell him he didn't have to try so hard – the look on his face spoke volumes – when he knelt in front of her.

"I've been waiting for you to tell me this for the longest time," Harold whispered in a rush of relief and delight. He gave her stomach a gentle, reverent kiss. "Hello, little one."

Marian felt herself welling up again. "I wasn't sure how you'd take the news," she confessed.

Harold got to his feet and enfolded her in a hug. "Darling – how could you think I'd be anything but overjoyed?" he admonished. "I've always wanted children with you!"

"Well, why didn't you say anything before?" she asked, pulling away from him a little so she could meet his gaze. "I'm surprised you didn't have some elaborate plan or timetable in mind!"

Harold's eyes twinkled with mischief, and she rejoiced to see the return of his usual vivaciousness. "There's a very good reason for that, my dear," he replied with a wink. "Children are one of those things that happen best when you _don't_ plan."

Even as her cheeks crimsoned, Marian smiled ruefully. "If I had known that was your opinion on the subject, I would have gone over to the music emporium after my appointment with Dr. Pyne this morning, and told you right away – as Mama advised."

"Oh darling, don't be too hard on yourself," he said soothingly. "I love that you wanted to surprise me! Of course, the moment I got your call, I knew you were up to something," he acknowledged with a grin. "But I have to admit, I wasn't entirely sure what it was… "

"You mean, you didn't already know?" she asked, astonished. "Mama knew the very day the mutton made me sick! She told me she could never stand mutton when she was expecting, either."

Harold's grin softened into an expression of tender affection. "You can be quite unpredictable and hard to read when you want to be, Madam Librarian! That's not to say I didn't suspect this was the case, but I figured it wasn't my place to say anything. And, to tell you the truth, I wasn't entirely sure if my suspicions were correct. After all, the territory is just as new to me as it is to you."

"I've been trying to tell you all evening, but nothing seemed to go according to plan." Marian gave him a scolding smile. "And then you positively _flew_ at me when I attempted to alleviate your anxiety… "

Harold pulled her close. "Darling, I've got about as much regret over my behavior as I did the night Winthrop stood before me with tears in his eyes and denounced me for the swindler I was. But when I saw you suffering, and not even letting your own husband near you, it took the life out of me." He held her tightly, as if he feared she'd vanish if he slackened his embrace. "I just kept thinking, if only there was _something_ I could do… "

It frightened Marian to hear Harold talk this way; she clasped him to her. "Oh, darling – you've done more than enough! No woman in the world could ever want a kinder, more considerate husband. I know I can be impossibly stubborn, but the moment I found out the news, my only thought was telling you as soon as I could. And I wanted to do it in the sweetest way possible."

He looked thoughtfully at her. "Darling, I'm going to give you a little tip: When you're scheming, you've got to follow your instincts. You mustn't hesitate to change plans at your intuition's command; otherwise you'll end up in situations like the unfortunate incident with the manure. I could see you fighting with yourself about something as we walked earlier – if you do that too long, you're sure to lose control of the situation."

Marian nodded at his sage advice. "Well, I'm still learning."

"I hope you don't learn too well," he entreated, and she saw real concern in his eyes. "I don't know if our marriage could endure _two_ charming charlatans."

She laughed at such a preposterous notion. "Well, you can relax, darling, because I certainly don't intend to become one!" Marian paused, and looked shyly at him. "I just want to make your eyes light up in delighted wonder every now and then, instead of it always being the other way around."

Harold gave her _that_ look. "Marian, it is definitely not always the other way around," he said in a low voice, and planted a searing kiss on her lips.

A few minutes or hours later – Marian could never be sure of the rate of time's passing when she was in Harold's arms – he suddenly broke their kiss and asked her when they needed to finish the nursery by.

With a blush, she told him the end of October. After pausing long enough to do the math – she saw his eyes gleam as he pinpointed the most likely date of conception – Harold's mouth descended over hers again. It had been awhile since he kissed her with such unchecked passion and intensity; Marian would have been delighted for this to go on forever.

But Harold eventually ended their embrace and moved back until he was standing at arm's length from her. "Oh, darling," he breathed, "there's nothing I'd love more than to take you upstairs right now; but I'm not sure that would be the wisest course of action, given your condition… "

Reluctantly, Marian agreed he was probably right. "Well, perhaps we can take a stroll," she suggested. Even though the footbridge was in a secluded area, going out in public would be the best way to curtail their ardor. And the sooner they could reclaim that dear spot from the unpleasant memory of their earlier row, the better. "It's unlikely that any of the teens will be out, at this hour."

Harold nodded, but still hesitated. "Are you sure that's a good idea, considering the danger to your health?"

Marian had to smile at his newfound aversion to risk – apparently, it wasn't only the mother-to-be who underwent personality changes during pregnancy. "If I don't accidentally leave my lavender sachet at home again, I should be fine," she assured her husband as she took him by the hand and led him to the front door. "Besides, spring goes by so quickly – I want to enjoy the blossoms for as long as I can, before they start to fall."

XXX

_A/N – Yes, there will be an epilogue!_


	6. Epilogue: The Blessed Event

After the secret was out, Harold and Marian had a wonderful summer together. For Harold, there was no more uncertainty, no more wondering whether or not his suspicions as to the cause of Marian's ailments were correct. Now the only thing between him and his wife was shared anticipation and fond dreams of what the future would bring.

It was quite something, to ponder the idea of impending fatherhood. Harold had always liked children and got along well with them, but he had never wanted any of his own. Children would have been an encumbrance to his nomadic lifestyle, and he figured he was doing the world a favor by not introducing another unscrupulous charlatan into it. But when he had watched Marian soothe Winthrop after the boy's dreams had come crashing down around him, Harold was struck with the sudden realization that he had met the one woman with whom he wanted to build a family. And when he was granted the opportunity to pursue this goal, he had seized it with his usual gusto.

Of course, Harold knew he would have to make sacrifices along the way; he had been fully prepared to curtail relations for the sake of his wife's health. But as it turned out, Marian was no better at denying her passion than he was his own. If anything, pregnancy only intensified her desire. And now that they were married and sleeping in the same bed, he couldn't resist her the way he did when they were still courting.

When Harold could no longer ignore his apprehension about the matter, he sought Dr. Pyne's advice. To his relief and delight, the doctor informed him that as long as Marian remained in good health, and they exercised caution and moderation, there was no danger of miscarriage. Though Dr. Pyne related this information in his usual sedate, straightforward manner, Harold noted the slight twitching of the man's bristled mustache, and wondered how many anxious husbands had asked the same question. He found himself repressing his own smile of amusement when he realized that Dr. Pyne had intimate knowledge about the doings of each and every River City-zien that Mrs. Shinn and her ladies would have envied – thank whatever deities existed the man knew how to hold his tongue!

XXX

Marian had told Harold the first three months of pregnancy were the most difficult, but as summer turned to autumn, he observed that the last three didn't seem to be any picnic, either. As he watched his wife struggle with backaches, general discomfort and other complaints, Harold started to grow anxious. By the time October rolled around, Dr. Pyne had placed Marian on bed rest. To make certain she obeyed the doctor's orders, Harold spent a good part of his days at home, looking after her. When he couldn't be around, Mrs. Paroo took over. Like Harold, she was eager to ensure the health of her family; as soon as Marian went into seclusion, Mrs. Paroo sent Winthrop to a neighbor's and came to stay with them for a little while.

But they needn't have worried. Marian seemed to relish the opportunity for rest, and didn't try to thwart Dr. Pyne's instructions. When he wasn't busy taking care of things around the house or managing his business, Harold could be found by her side. Of late, he had moved to the parlor sofa to give his wife a bit more comfort, so he took advantage of any occasion he got to spend some uninterrupted, quality time with her.

Ever mindful of her condition, Harold let Marian determine the tone and pace of their interactions. Some days, they shared light conversation and engaged in their usual banter; others, Marian motioned for him to come closer. Gingerly, he would wrap his arms about her, and they'd lie together in contented silence. And some days, Marian simply slept, while he sat in a nearby chair. But even that was enough to satisfy Harold; he loved to watch his dear librarian in her slumber, her hand resting gently on her curved, swollen stomach.

XXX

One morning in the middle of October, Harold awoke to find his wife dusting an end table next to the sofa.

He immediately rose and went over to her. "Darling, what are you doing?" he asked with a bewildered smile.

"It occurred to me that this place could use a good cleaning," Marian replied, not pausing in her work.

Harold chuckled. "Darling, I know I'm not the best of housekeepers, but things really aren't that bad." Gently plucking the dustcloth from her hand, he started to lead her toward the stairs. "You shouldn't even be up right now… "

"What's going on down there?" Mrs. Paroo called from the upstairs landing.

"Marian has got in her head that she needs to clean the house," Harold replied. "I was just bringing her back to bed."

He expected Mrs. Paroo to reprimand her daughter, but her eyes lit up, and she gave them a broad smile. "That means it's almost time! All women get the urge to set things in order, when the end approaches," she explained, upon seeing Harold's questioning look. Then she turned to Marian, and her expression grew stern. "But Professor Hill's right, me girl – you shouldn't be out of bed!"

"Honestly, a woman can't do anything with you two around," Marian said, rolling her eyes good naturedly. But she let Harold take her upstairs.

XXX

That night, Marian's labor began. Harold didn't even attempt to sleep; he paced the parlor like a caged wildcat. He had never been a religious man, but right now, he was praying harder than a penitent at a revival meeting. For the first time in his life, he knew abject, helpless fear; there was nothing he could do but wait for things to be over. Harold wished he could be by Marian's side – he found it absolutely preposterous that a man couldn't stay with his wife when she was giving birth to the child he had helped create. But that was the way things were done, and he didn't want to cause his beloved any undue stress by getting into an argument with Dr. Pyne and Mrs. Paroo. Harold did insist on regular updates of Marian's progress, which her gatekeepers were kind enough to give him – no matter how frazzled they looked when they passed through the parlor.

Finally, the following afternoon, Mrs. Paroo contrived some errands that would keep him busy for a little while. At first, Harold refused to leave the house, but when he realized she and Dr. Pyne could better attend to Marian if he wasn't underfoot, he immediately set off. He did agree he could probably use the change of scenery.

Sadly, getting out of the house didn't prove to be the restorative tonic for which Harold had been hoping. Each person he passed, from the mayor to the transient who carted salvage goods in a sack, engaged him in conversation; it seemed everyone in town wanted the latest news on Marian's condition. He was amazed at how fast the word had traveled – Harold hadn't felt this hunted since the school board was after him for his credentials.

Even in his agitation and unease, Professor Hill was still the same silver-tongued charmer he had always been – he managed to extricate himself from these uncomfortable conversations with ease. It was amazing, the personal questions people asked at times like these. Still, Harold didn't take offense; he chalked it up to a community's natural concern for one of their own.

But when Harold turned the corner to the livery stable, he was mobbed by Mrs. Shinn and her ladies. He managed to fend off their inquiries when they eagerly pressed him for information, but he could not find a way to gracefully extricate himself from their clutches. There were simply too many of them and, despite his subtle attempts to work his way into the periphery so he could slip away without causing hurt feelings, he remained at the center of their attention.

As Harold politely listened to the ladies' advice and anecdotes, he remembered how, once her condition became common knowledge, Marian would often let out a wordless groan of frustration after she came home from an Events Committee meeting. Naturally, Harold had commiserated with his wife, though he privately thought she was overreacting. But now he marveled that Marian was able to confine her irritation to such brief outbursts; he felt like shouting.

If it wasn't for Marcellus happening by, Harold didn't know what he would have done. The moment he made eye contact with his old comrade, Marcellus changed direction and started to make his way through the crowd.

"Excuse me," Marcellus apologized when they all glared at him for this rude interruption, "but my tuba broke and I need Professor Hill's help to repair it, or I won't be able to get in enough practice for next week's concert."

Even Mrs. Shinn and her ladies couldn't argue with that. Reluctantly, they broke their circle and allowed Harold to adjourn to the music emporium with Marcellus – but only after he promised to let them know the moment he had the news.

XXX

It turned out Marcellus hadn't been lying – his tuba did have a stuck mouthpiece, which Harold pulled out in a trice. But the music professor knew his old comrade would have rescued him, regardless, so he clapped the man on the shoulder and said with real gratitude, "Thanks Marce, I owe you one!"

Marcellus shrugged. "It's no trouble – a real excuse is just as good as a lie, and a lot easier to get away with. Listen, why don't you come over for dinner? Ethel's making chicken croquettes."

Harold did not hesitate to accept this invitation; he hadn't eaten anything all day, and he suddenly realized he was famished.

XXX

At Marcellus' house, Harold managed to find the respite he had been seeking. After phoning home to let Dr. Pyne and Mrs. Paroo know of his whereabouts, should they need to contact him, he and the Washburns passed a pleasant afternoon together. Ethel did gently inquire as to Marian's wellbeing, but after Harold informed her nothing had changed, she immediately turned the conversation to lighter, more mundane topics.

Harold couldn't remember when he last had such an excellent dinner; the chicken was done to a turn. After they had eaten themselves into a languid stupor, Harold and Marcellus retired to the parlor. During this pleasant lull in which they sat quietly digesting their meals, Harold checked his watch. Over four hours had passed since he had arrived at Marcellus' house; he wondered if he should phone home again.

Suddenly, Harold started laughing, and couldn't stop. Who could have ever imagined that he and Marcellus would be sitting in a cozy parlor somewhere, both of them happily married men living respectable existences, and himself anxiously awaiting the birth of his first child?

Marcellus gave him a bewildered smile. "What is it, Greg?"

Wiping away his tears of laughter, Harold turned to his old comrade. "Marce, it's amazing how one person can change your whole outlook on life."

Marcellus' eyes wandered over to Ethel, who was humming merrily as she bustled around the kitchen, washing and putting away the dinner dishes. "It sure is," he agreed.

XXX

Marcellus and Ethel offered to put him up in the spare room for the night, but Harold declined. Even though he knew he would probably have a better chance for rest than if he was at home, there was no way he could bear passing a night under a different roof than his laboring wife.

But when Harold finally left the Washburns' house, he didn't immediately go home. He had just phoned a half hour ago and still, they had no news. Harold knew another sleepless night would be in store for him, and he didn't want to face that prospect, just yet. So he went to the one place he could find solitude – the footbridge.

But being at the footbridge only unsettled him; all Harold could think of was the happy times he and Marian had spent there together, entwined in each other's arms. Again, he realized just how much she meant to him; his existence would be cold and empty without her in it. After all this unpleasantness was over, he would either be the happiest, proudest man in the world – or he was going to get on the next train and just keep riding it until the conductor threw him in a ditch somewhere.

Once the sun sank below the horizon and the evening air grew too chilly for comfort, Harold decided it was high time he returned home.

XXX

Harold entered the front hall to see Dr. Pyne descending the stairs. Before he could offer a greeting, the doctor's expression brightened. "Oh good, Professor, you're back! We've been trying to get hold of you for the last half hour, but no one seemed to know where you'd gone. I was just about to go out looking for you!"

At the doctor's words and – more importantly – his unruffled demeanor, Harold felt the most wonderful sense of relief. Perhaps he would be able to sleep tonight, after all! He asked the most crucial question first: "How's Marian?"

"Resting comfortably," Dr. Pyne informed him. "Everything went swimmingly. Your wife is a bit thin, but has good, wide hips. Your next child should come much quicker; first births always take the longest."

At first, Harold frowned. Though he usually appreciated Dr. Pyne's straightforward approach, he wasn't too pleased to hear the man talk about Marian as if she were nothing more than a broodmare. But Harold figured the doctor was so used to talking to farmers that he didn't realize he had said anything out of place. And he was so overjoyed to hear his beloved was all right that he couldn't stay annoyed for long. "And the baby?" he asked, going on to the second important question.

Dr. Pyne hesitated for a moment. Harold would have been worried, but for the gleam of amusement that flitted across the doctor's eyes. "Do twins run in your family, Professor Hill?"

Harold's eyes widened. "Not that I know of… "

Dr. Pyne grinned. "Well, they do now. Mrs. Hill delivered two girls, five minutes apart."

XXX

Feeling like he was in a dream, Harold ascended the stairs and knocked softly on the bedroom door. Almost immediately, it was opened by a beaming Mrs. Paroo. "Ah, Professor Hill! I take it the doctor has given you the news?" she asked when she saw his dumbfounded expression.

Harold could only nod.

"I ought to have known something like this would happen," Mrs. Paroo said, shaking her head. "A man like you never does anything ordinary."

"Twin daughters," he said wonderingly, still trying to wrap his head around the idea.

Mrs. Paroo laughed and took him by the arm. "Well, don't just stand there, me boy – come in and see your family!"

Harold didn't need to be told twice. Upon entering the room, he went right over to Marian, who looked exhausted but radiant, and bathed her flushed cheeks with several grateful, relieved kisses. Then his gaze fell upon the babies – his babies! – as they lay fast asleep in their mother's arms.

For the second time in his life, Harold fell utterly, hopelessly, desperately in love. "Oh, you little darlings," he breathed, his fingers tracing their plump cheeks, button noses and blonde curls in the most delicate of caresses. Harold wanted to say something eloquent to express the joy and the awe he felt to behold such perfect wonders, but when one of his daughters scrunched her face, let out a yawn and wriggled around until she was nestled even deeper in the crook of her mother's elbow, he found himself unable to speak a word – let alone form complete sentences.

Marian gave him a tender, affectionate smile. "Well darling, it looks like we got the heir and the spare all at once," she said wryly.

Her playful words were a restorative tonic; Harold immediately recovered his mental faculties. "Figures I'm outnumbered, three to one," he said with a laugh.

XXX

… _And that should segue nicely into Two to Tango! Unless, of course, I write fanfic exploring Harold's and Marian's early years as parents… which, as you know, is something I am quite likely to do!_


End file.
